Memories of You
by PadfootandProngs91
Summary: [Complete] Six very different pieces detailing a fluffy moment between Hermione Granger and some of her closest friends.


**_Disclaimer: All characters and setting belong to JK Rowling. I own little of the content ._**

Author's Note: Thanks to Angel of Darkness and juls on hpffdotcom for doing a read through of almost all the parts. Thanks to xQuillsxInkx on hpffdotcom for issuing this fun and light hearted challenge. __

**Part One** is set post fifth year, **Part Two** is set post fifth year, **Part Three** is set mid fourth year, **Part Four** is set mid sixth year, **Part Five** is set mid fifth year and **Part Six** is set mid third year. That might help with the way the stories are written and what the characters are talking about (if it relates to the books at all)

Part One  
**Neville Longbottom: An Itch He Can't Scratch**

"I'm hopeless, Hermione. Completely hopeless."

I smiled up at Neville as he plopped into the chair next to mine. He set a stack of books on the table, each labeled with hideous potions titles on the bindings. Neville sighed heavily, opening one of the textbooks.

"No you're not, Neville. Just in Potions," I teased, still smiling wide at him.

"Haha!"

"Give that here," I responded, seizing one of his monstrous books. Flipping through the thin pages, I spotted a potion Neville was sure to know, "What color is the Purple Web Drought?" I asked.

"Er...purple?"

Running my hand through my wild hair, I let out a soft sigh, "No Neville, it's silver. Remember, we brewed it a few weeks back," Neville's plump face looked confused, "It was the potion that got you hospital detention," recognition washed over his rosy cheeks.

"Took me ages to clean those bed pans," Neville mumbled, leaning back far in his chair, "It's a fact, Hermione. I can not pass Snape's class."

Softly setting the book back down on the table, I watched as Neville pulled it towards him. Sighing once more as he set his chair back on four legs, Neville slowly dipped his quill in the small ink bottle and started to write what would end up as a confusing essay. I myself had been working on my assignment for Arthmancy before Neville had interrupted. Now, although my focus was far from gone, I watched as Neville scratched his head, looking as though he was far from intense thought.

Neville Longbottom. Most knew him as the boy who was almost a squib. He's not quite bright in most classes, begging for my help after nearly every one. Any Slytherin student would tell you he is as much of a mockery to purebloods as muggle borns are. Ask a Hufflepuff student about Neville and they'll tell you that they missed a great addition to their house. A Ravenclaw would be as quick to inform you that Neville wasn't quite smart enough to match them.

But a Gryffindor, such as myself, would disagree with all three houses.

Neville Longbottom is very much a pureblood, although that fact would not make much difference had he been anything other. He is much too brave for a house like Hufflepuff, showing that he will save your life even if it means he could die. No matter how that Ravenclaw outlines Neville's intelligence, he has always been a prodigy in Herbology.

Neville is quick on his feet when he needs to be. He is your best mate, always. He'll cower in fear when facing Draco Malfoy but he'll fight till near death when facing Death Eaters. Neville will try to stop you from breaking the rules yet agrees to ride the back of thestral if you ask him nicely.

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up as I watched as Neville started to scratch his head vigorously. He dropped his quill and jumped up so quickly that his legs knocked over his chair while his elbow hit his ink bottle. Black liquid quickly spread across the table over both Neville's paper and mine. Both pieces of parchment looked as they had been horribly burnt.

In a flash I was up and out of my chair; trying to clean up the mess and tend to Neville at the same time. His face had contorted to a look of dull pain as he scratched nearly every inch of his body. Bending in ways that a body shouldn't to reach unreachable itches, Neville looked like a fool.

"Make it stop, Hermione!" He moaned, trying to itch a spot on his mid back. No luck.

"Someone must've given you itching powder, Neville. Just hold still for a moment,"

"Hold still! That's impossible," He shouted. Neville was doubled over, itching his calves. I must say, even though it was quite a serious moment, I was ready to laugh until I ran out of air. 

"Merlin, Neville," I muttered instead, looking him over. He stared up at me, waiting for me to stop all his pain. I was frustrated to say the least. He needed to stop moving!

That's when I did it. I had to! Probably should've just tried the spell with him thrashing about, but I panicked. Putting my wand between my teeth and rolling up the sleeves to my ruffled uniform shirt; I sprung into action. Literally.

I tackled him. I, Hermione Jane Granger, tackled Neville Algernon Longbottom. My knees were pressing down on his elbows and the rest of my body was keeping him from chucking me. 

"What the--Hermione!" He exclaimed, staring wide at me. Both his left and right arm twitched helplessly, trying to reach whatever area was bothering him.

Rolling my eyes, I awkwardly took my wand from my teeth. Somehow waving my wand and undoing the effects the powder, Neville abruptly stopped twitching. I stood up from him, brushing my robes off as I did so. He too slowly stood up.

"Umm..we can pretend that never happened if you want," Neville quickly said, his quirky way of apologizing.

I stared at him, taking in his flushed face. His dark hair was a mess, his sleeves rolled up into uneven places and his hands shoved nervously into his pockets.

I started to laugh. Not the kind of laugh that qualifies as a chuckle but the kind that cause you to double over. Soon, Neville's crimson face broke out into a broad grin.

Neville Longbottom. He's a great friend, through and through.

Part Two  
**Luna Lovegood: The Unfortunate Sneeze**

"Wave up, down, right then Depulso!" I said, my wand pointed towards the empty goblet in front of me. I smiled as it moved nearly a foot across the library table. I had spent ages trying to perfect that spell. And now I had done it!

"You know, each time you say that spell, four Benemoths in Australia die. They're an under appreciated species, not many people like the spikes on their backs. I love them even if they are quite hideous..." came a dreamy voice from behind me. I knew that voice. I also knew for a fact that a Benemoth wasn't an animal.

Turning slowly in my seat, I looked up at the person addressing me, "Luna. Lovely to see you again."

"I suppose so," Luna said nonchalantly, sitting across from me. In her hands was a book I knew to be our Transfiguration text. Inwardly sighing, I knew why Luna had approached me.

"I couldn't come to class yesterday. I was hunting Minotaurs on the third floor. A scared Hufflepuff begged me to help,"

This time I sighed heavily, "Minotaurs don't exist, Luna."

She stared at me, her large blue eyes wide and blank. Then, as if I hadn't said a word, she continued, "Then today I asked Professor McGonagall to help me with the spell I would've learned. She sent me to you."

I was contemplating helping Luna out. Sure, I wasn't a fan of her constant belief in nonexistent creatures. But at the same time, a Professor had recommended me. I should be happy!

"All right Luna," I gave in, crossing over to her side of the table. I spent nearly an hour explaining the complexity of how to transfer a quill into a white kitten.

Before I could tell her I needed to take off, her head whipped around to her left faster than I had ever seen a head move, "Did you hear that!"

"Hear what?"

She was quiet for a moment, slowly standing up out of her seat. Luna suddenly jumped, stumbling to face towards some unheard sound. At least by me, "That!" she whispered, seizing my forearm.

"Luna, I can't hear anything," I answered as she dragged me, pulling against my dug in heels. Luna is stronger than she looks.

"Shhh!" Luna hissed, pulling me along through the maze of book shelves.

Her name is Luna Lovegood. Her mission in life is to inform each person she meets about creatures that she loves. Although I'm certain each of those animals are far from real, she's the kind of person you feel obligated to like. Her airy voice and her blue eyes always seem to be smiling.

She's a brave girl, full of a mischievous nature that could almost out wit the Weasley Twins. She's shown that, no matter what the situation, she is a courageous person. Not to mention optimistic. Something I believe all the students of Hogwarts need.

Luna stopped at section I knew fairly well. Full of books upon books detailing the Elf Wars of the Middle Ages. Letting go of my arm, Luna had given me a chance to flee. But, wondering what she had heard, I stood rooted to my spot.

Luna quickly reached forward, pausing to glance back at me and mouthed, "Not a sound!". She then turned back to the shelf, proceeding to take off thick texts, allowing them to drop to the floor. With a heavy thump, the dust on each rose quickly towards my nose.

The tickling sensation in my nostrils grew intense. I could feel pressure along my nasal passage as the dust quickly rose higher and higher. Hitching forward, I buried my nose in my elbow but it was no use. The sneeze was so enormously loud that Luna jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"Oh no!" her soft voice exclaimed as we both watched a small fuzzy creature jump haphazardly from the top shelf. It was small, nearly a foot tall. It's short fur was a chocolate brown with flecks of a deep green here and there. It stumbled along the book strewn floor, it's tiny feet moving slowly.

"What is that!"

"A Vooka. You woke it up!" Luna answered angrily, springing forward to catch the small animal. Grasping wildly, she finally wrapped her pale hands around it's plump body. I watched in disbelief as the vooka wildly tried to escape from Luna's hands. It seemed Luna was indeed as strong as I thought.

"Quick, stun him!" she shouted, quickly standing up.

Feeling beyond daft for actually listen to Luna, I point my wand at the black flurry creature, "Stupefy!" 

He, that's what Luna had said, fell limp in her arms. Sighing thankfully, Luna lifted the animal and placed him back on the top shelf. I stared at her, dumbfounded for the first time in my short life.

"How--"

Luna smiled at me, "Vookas love to sleep among the books. They like the smell of the old pages. I'll wake him up when everything is calm again," she said as she quietly put the books back in their place.

Luna Lovegood. She's not as mad as I had thought.

Part Three  
**Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil: Aspirations**

"Hermione?"

I reluctantly looked up, forcing my eyes to leave the pages of the thick book perched in my lap. I was seated in one of the overstuffed chairs in the Gryffindor common room, right next to the roaring fire. I was content with my attempt at finishing off the evening. Apparently Lavender and Parvati disagreed.

Parvati nodded briskly to Lavender, urging her to say something that was sure to include me. In turn, Lavender shook her head, pressing her lips together. It was like this back and forth for nearly a minutes; one nodding, the other shaking. It would've been entertaining had they not interrupted such a fantastic part in my novel.

"Do you need something?" I asked, impatiently shifting in my seat.

Glancing quickly at her companion, Parvati spoke, "We were wondering if you would like to play a game with us."

A game? Why in world would I want to play a game with them? Sighing quietly, I continued to look up at them, "A game? What for?"

Lavender's eyes lit up as she plopped down on the couch to my left, Parvati quickly following."For fun, of course," she stated as she started to pull out cards decorated in shades of pink and purple. Each was labeled on the front with the company's logo; a puckered up pair of lips with the word _aspirations_ written in curly text. I bit the inside of my lip as Lavender begin to hand out the cards until we each had a stack. I gingerly took mine, allowing the book I was reading to drop to the floor.

"This is how it works. We each have these cards. You ask the girl next to you a question from your card. They have to answer truthfully," Lavender explained, nearly bouncing in her seat, "It's a muggle game," she added.

"I know," I said solemnly, shuffling through the cards.

_Describe your dream guy._ I rolled my eyes. _What's your most personal secret?_ I inwardly laughed. Which one would I choose? _What would you do if you best friend fancied the same guy you do?_ This time I did laugh out loud. Just picturing Harry in love with---well the same person I am. 

"Lavender, you're first," Parvati said turning to the implied. I watched as Parvati giggled endlessly after repeating the written question. What had she asked? Something about how many kids Lavender wanted.

Lavender Brown, I thought. She's always been a girl. Knows exactly what shade of eye shadow will flatter your entire body, including your toes. She'll tell you if your hair is a mess, something I know first hand. Lavender doesn't seem to be much more that a make-up consultant. But I've seen her studying, nearly pulling out her perfectly sculpted hair. I've watched her scamper around the dorm in search of her textbook, her clothes in disarray. I have even, gasp, seen her in the morning; make-up less.

Then there's Parvati Patil. Sweet, caring and all around nice. Lavender and her were always meant to be friends. She too loves the idea of the perfect mascara, she can't wait to attack my entire presence each morning. Her hair, long and straight, has always been something I admire. But at the same time, she can be known to spend hours reading a book by flashlight when we've all gone to sleep. Even though Parvati may be quite a perfectionist when it comes to her looks, she has stood up for me many times when I needed it.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" I mumbled, still tuned out from the two.

"I asked who you admire the most."

"Harry," I said, not fully registering the question. Both of them stared at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

"Do you fancy him then?" Parvati asked for the both of them, her eyes sparkling.

"What? Fancy Harry?" I asked, breaking out into a wide smile, "Of course not. I couldn't fancy Harry, he's like a brother."

Looking disappointed, Parvati stared pointedly at me. Frowning, I stared back, "What?"

"It's your turn to ask a question."

"Oh," I mumbled, shuffling through my stack, "Er...what color hair does your dream guy have?" I paused, "That's a pointless question, isn't it?"

Parvati, opting to ignore me rather than scowl, proudly answered "Black."

"Like Harry," Lavender said in a singsong tone. Parvati, looking quite flustered, shot back, "What about you, Lav?"

"Red," she said, nodding. 

"Only one redhead in our year."

Lavender narrowed her eyes at Parvati, turning towards me instead of continuing with the game, "How about you, Hermione?"

My eyes darted around the room, hoping I could escape before they forced the answer out of me. Across the room I spotted Neville, having trouble with the spell we had studied earlier that day. Taking my chance, I jumped up and handed the cards back to Lavender, "Quite sorry you too, I have to get going. I'm needed over there," I quickly explained, snatching my book from the floor. I walked quickly to Neville before either of them could stop me.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Sometimes boys make better best friends.

Part Four  
**Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan: Quidditch v.s. Football**

"I'm telling you Dean, no sport can truly beat Quidditch. It's just not done."

I watched as the two took a seat among the man tables in the common room. It just happened to be the one placed next to mine. I glanced at them as they sat down, returning my gaze towards the many books stacked around me. Each one open to an important detail that I needed to remember for my next exam. How people like Dean and Seamus could possibly be so calm at a time like this was beyond me.

"Have you ever seen a football match?"

"Well, no but--"

"Exactly!"

Examining the Major Chronicle of the Barony pulled in front of me, I realized I had read the same passage nearly ten times. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the table; my knuckles turning white. Can't those two just shut it? Why would anyone care the difference between Quidditch and football? Why would anyone be bothered with the two when more important things were going on? Why would anyone dare make a sound when exams were going on!

"It doesn't matter if I haven't seen a game, Dean. What matters is that I'm certain Quidditch can beat all sports both muggle and magic."

I jumped up and slammed my hands down hard on their table before Dean could agrue back. My hair, I'm certain, was two inches thicker than normal. My sleeves had been repeatedly shoved up in attempts to keep the white cloth from my ink bottle. My eyes were blazing. Whether I had looked a bit too mad is still in question to this very day.

"Do you know what exam I have tomorrow?" They both stared at me, a look of fear painted across both faces, "Do you know how much it counts for our grade, Finnigan? But that doesn't matter does it, Thomas? Who cares if Hermione can't study for her History of Magic exam? As long as we decide what the best sport is, the world will be perfect!" I spun on my heads, stopped dead and turned back around. Bending down to meet their eyes, I added in a low voice, "Neither of them are great sports anyway. You should give up, as it's a quite pointless argument."

As I turned and started to walk back towards my seat, I couldn't help but feel proud for rendering the two speechless.

"Pointless!" I heard Seamus finally squeak out, "Look here, Hermione. Quidditch could never be classified as pointless!"

Ignoring him, I slipped back into my seat. Halfway through the infamous passage, I heard two chairs drag along the floor. Slowly looking up, I saw Dean and Seamus seated on either side of me.

"I mean sure, football is a completely useless sport, but Quidditch? Surely a smart witch such as your self can see that it is a game that is beyond ingenious."

Dean rolled his eyes, answering before I could, "Come on Seamus, it's not useless. It's a bloody fantastic sport--" but what he said next I couldn't hear. The two were too loud for me to focus on the task at hand yet I was too uninterested to chime in.

Dean Thomas, he is quite a catch isn't he? An artist and a genuine nice guy. From what Ginny says, he's one great kisser too. He's always been by Harry's side no matter how much the Prophet told him not to. He's a great house mate and fantastic friend. Dean...all around ideal boyfriend. He's funny, a bit too into sports if you ask me and he has no interest in exams, obviously. But at the same time, he still knows how to be your best mate.

We even have the Seamus Finnigan. His accent alone makes him more interesting than most. Although his trust and support often is cloudy, he has the best of intentions. Both he and Dean are meant to be best mates, no matter how much they argue. Seamus is a man's man, hoping to please everyone he can. 

"Right Hermione?"

"Right," I answered, ignoring him completely.

"I knew it," Dean sighed, shaking his head, "You weren't listen to us at all, were you?"

"Of course."

"Hermione, I need help with my potions essay."

"Okay."

"Oh no Hermione, I think Neville's hurt!"

"Mmhmm?"

"Look Hermione! McGongall posted our grades. I think your top of the class again!"

"Comp--l--What! Where!" I exclaimed, leaping up out of my seat. I was at the bulletin board in flash. Searching the papers pinned up, I frowned. Glancing over them again it dawned on me.

We don't have Transfiguration until Thursday. Turning around slowly, I saw Dean and Seamus laughing; both gasping for air.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Perfect gits.

Part Five  
**Ginny Weasley: The Man on the Beach**

_Truly yours,_

Victor

I sighed happily as I folded his letter back up. Despite the agruements made by a certain red-head, Victor Krum and I have become great friends. Friends and nothing more. Something not everyone can understand, apparently.

"Another love note?"

My head wiped around and there stood a witch with flaming red hair.

"You know me too well, Miss. Weasley,"

Ginny smiled at me as the two of us sat down. Seated in the Gryffindor Common Room, I returned her smile. The room was scarse, most of the house members make the best of the weather. I, unlike Harry and Ron, didn't feel up to lying around all day.

"So, how is Victor?" she asked, her eye brows arched. I sighed, leaning back into the comfort of the overstuffed chair.

"Fine. He's invited me for holiday again."

"And the problem is?"

I stared at her, silently hoping she would figure it out on her own. I could see in her eyes that she had indeed caught on but refused to allow me the pleasure of not voicing it out loud.

"I just can't go," I replied, refusing to meet her eyes. Before she asked another question, I added, "What about Michael, how is he?"

Her face fell, "Bloody terrible,"

But as quickly as her freckled face fell it light up once again, "Forget Michael. I read this article in Witch Weekly about this gorgeous guy in Ireland. He's the youngest wizard--"

"--to ever write a muggle book!" I ended, now sitting on the edge of my seat.

"You read that too? I mean...15 and absolutely perfect. I don't think life gives 'em any better than him," Ginny laughed, propping her legs up on the table. She pulled out a magizine while I stared into the empty fireplace. Closing my eyes I could imagine it dancing with such vibrant reds and oranges.

Ginny Weasley. The only friend I've had that actually has emotion bigger than Ron's. She might be a year younger than me but sometimes I wonder who truly is the tutor. Smart and funny. I suppose the latter comes from her brothers. Ginny is the kind of girl that will tell you exactly what she thinks, no matter how much it may hurt. She's told me countless times to stop worrying about the way my hair grows or how big my teeth are. She says to just be Hermione and if someone doesn't like it, then that's fine.

I think that's the only thing that has truly kept me running.

Ginny gasped, leaping up from her seat. She towered over me, seeming much taller than she was. 

"Look!" She exclaimed, pointing to a picture on the page she had been reading. It was a muggle ad featuring a teen half clothed. Now normally I would've scoffed at the idea, yet this particular picture was far from hideous.

"Oh my," I mumbled, tilting my head to the side.

Nodding enthusastically, Ginny flipped the page. Another male, clad in a bit more than the first, was featured. For some odd reason, he was more appealing than the first. He seemed to have more of a story as he sat on the sandy coast. More indepth than the first. He was possibly a sensitive guy, who enjoyed the classical books while--

Ginny suddenly yanked the magizine away, scowling at me, "You were doing it again, weren't you?"

"Doing what?"

"Making up stories!"

I stared at her as she sat down on the coffee table centered among the seats, "No, of course not,"

Ginny stared back at me. Our eyes held for what seemed like hours, neither of us wanting to look away. I wasn't breaking her gaze; I had, after knowing Ron, held many stares. But apparently having six brothers did Ginny good.

"Did you name him yet?" she asked, glancing back at the picture.

I sighed, "No. You stopped me before I could,"

Ginny Weasley. The reason girls are better.

Part Six  
**Harry Potter: The Boy He Knows**

"Hey Hermione,"

I didn't even look up from my book, I knew that voice all too well. I didn't have to lift my head to know he would support a mess of black hair, bright green eyes, muggle clothes much too big for him and a thin, lighten bolt shaped scar. But that wasn't the reason I refused to look up. I was certain the two of us had been in a form of a row.

"Hermione?"

I made a small noise to show him I heard as I turned the page. I could feel him sink down next to me, dropping his heavy school bag at our feet.

"Come on Hermione, you're mad at Ron. Not me,"

I stayed quiet, staring at the same paragraph. I couldn't focus on the book and ignore Harry at the same time. It just wasn't done.

Harry sighed and I felt him cross his arms. Stubborn boy, wasn't he?

"Fine then, Hermione. I'll just sit here, with my potions essay still unwritten, and wait until you say a word. Won't bother me a bit,"

We sat there, him with arms crossed and me staring at the same passage. Minutes ticked by before my head snapped up, "You haven't done your essay yet?"

Harry grinned at me, hauling the parchment out of his bag on the floor. I marked my place and was set on pushing him through.

Harry Potter. If you had told me you have never heard the name before, I'd think you've gone mad. I believe the only known wizard not have heard of Harry is Professor Lockhart, although thats not techinally his fault. He hadn't known about Ron's faulty wand.

Either way, it's quite hard to describe Harry. He's been through so much, not having a parent or a guardian to confide in. I could barely manage a summer without him and Ron; not nearly as long as eleven years with out so much as one friend. How Harry could've survived during that time, I'm not sure. I doubt I would've last without mum and dad.

He's brave and courgeous. He's willing to save the life of a girl who is obsessed with him. Harry is a great guy, both funny and fantastic flyer. Not to mention the fact that he is well, Harry. I doubt there is any word in the dictionary that can explain Harry Potter any better.

"So what exactly are the sleeping draught's four main ingrediants?"

"Hermione?"

"Answer the question," I said, the textbook perched on my knees, Harry turned completely side ways. We had been at it for nearly an hour and Harry's appearance seemed only to get messier as we went.

"Daisy roots, eye of a newt, moonstone and wormwood,"

"Perfect!"

"Hermione?" Harry asked again, leaning forward.

"Yeah Harry?"

There was silence as I looked up, wondering why he hadn't responded. Harry, shifting nerviously in his seat, was stared at me. I set the book down, staring back at him.

"What is it Harry? Is your scar hurting?" I quickly asked, concern washing over my face.

"Oh. No, no," He mumbled, running a hand through his mess of hair, "It's just that...I was wondering..." He trailed.

"Yes?"

"You and Ron should just make up!" he blurted out, face turning a dark shade of red. I stared down at the floor, wringing my hands together. I did miss Ron terribly, no matter how much we bickered.

"I would, Harry. But it doesn't seem Ron wants to,"

"Who cares what he wants, Hermione? It's Ron," Harry pleaded, his green eyes staring into my eyes. Normally his form of a puppy dog face would make me give in, but not this time.

"Why don't you give Ron this speech, Harry? He accused my cat of eatting Scabbers!"

"It's just a rat! Who cares about it when you two should be talking! You are his best friend, Hermione!" Harry paused, anger written across his face, "He would skin me alive if he knew I was talking to you, you know that? It is complete rubbish if you ask me,"

I smiled sadly at Harry. I knew this was only his beginning, "You know Ron. He loved Scabbers,"

Harry sighed, snatching the potions text, "Yeah. I know Ron really well,"

Harry Potter. The reason I actually respect boys.


End file.
